The Orchard
by Red Chucks
Summary: A brief story about Dan and Jones on a trip home to visit the Ashcrofts. (I blame Oscar Wilde for this mostly.)


**Standard disclaimer to point out that I don't own these characters. They just make me happy.**

* * *

"Are you actually reading a book?"

Jones smiled at the incredulous tone, but didn't look up. He closed his eyes instead, rested the tatty paperback against his chest and slouched further down against the tree, enjoying the way the heavy warmth of the sunshine made him feel slightly drunk. Dan was letting his feet drag through the ankle length grass and Jones marveled at the way the larger man could translate his irritation into noise through the pattern of his tread and the_ shrick shrack_ of the grass against the cuffs of his jeans. He could hear the clink of cider bottles and the distinctive creak of a wicker basket too and tried not to look smug.

"Did you make me a picnic?"

Dan huffed in response and stopped, just close enough for Jones to feel his shadow against his eyelids.

"Answer my question first."

Despite the warmth of the afternoon Jones shivered. He was bloody useless when Dan's voice lowered to a purr like that. It was almost like he wasn't quite human. Not less than human - although the sound had a distinctly animalistic baseline - it was like he became something more. Jones' own personal god. Or fallen angel, more like. Dan's voice, when he was feeling open or playful or sexy or (god forbid) happy, changed the vibrations of every other sound within a one hundred meter radius. It made Jones' skin itch, but in a really good way.

He opened his eyes as slowly as he could and took in the shambles of a man standing in front of him.

"I nicked it from your old room."

"You little thief," Dan growled, lowering himself down to the grass like a much older man than he actually was and dumping the picnic basket between Jones' legs.

"You knew that when you met me," Jones smirked.

"Didn't know you could read though," Dan snapped back but Jones could see he was fighting hard to control the grin peaking out beneath his scruffy beard.

" 'Course I can read, you pretentious git," Jones said, his grin spreading wider as he leaned forward to open the picnic basket. Dan reached out to grab the book as it slid down the slippery day-glow yellow fabric of his tank top but Jones was faster and slipped it down and under his thigh. Dan would have to reach across him and just about grope his arse to get it and he knew that he wouldn't want to do that, not when there was any chance of his parents or sister walking by. Dan grunted at him to show he understood the tease and Jones bit his lip to stop himself from laughing at his repressed, 'don't-call-me-your-boyfriend' boyfriend.

"An' your mum said I could go in there, your room, have a nosey about. I think she might've been trying to be nice. Either that or she was trying to scare me off by showing what a little nerd you were. Didn't work though, I think your nerdiness is well sexy. Told your mum so, just to see the look on her face."

"You shouldn't be so..." Dan waved his hands vaguely before grabbing a bottle of cider from the basket.

Jones took one for himself and a tomato and cheese roll and leaned back to rest his shoulder against the tree and his head against Dan.

"She hasn't exactly been sweet to me, though, has she?" he asked when their drinks were finished and the food had been devoured. "If I didn't know any better I'd say she didn't even know you were into blokes before this week."

He chanced a quick glance up at Dan but the other man continued to stare out across the orchard with its rows of sturdy apple trees and too-green grass. He'd never pictured Dan growing up like this, surrounded by nature and beauty and fresh air, but he supposed it made sense. A person could get jaded and disillusioned by anything really and Dan had made a point of moving to a place full of noise and pollution and people - the very opposite of the tranquility he'd had to endure for the first eighteen years of his life. He was a bit jealous, having grown up in the scummy streets of Kentishtown. He still considered anyone who owned any plant other than a sickly cactus to be posh. Or pretentious. Dan's parents were a bit of both and even though he understood that he wasn't exactly the boy any parent wanted to see in a relationship with their child, he'd tried hard to be friendly and charming and show that he was worthy of being Dan's boyfriend - for the first three days anyway.

Dan's dad had simply ignored him but Dan's mother had been like a definition of passive aggressive. Dan had ignored her behaviour in return but Claire had taken her to task about it in true Claire fashion. She'd meant well but it had just made Jones feel worse, especially because he'd been so keen to meet the Ashcofts when he realised that Dan and Claire were heading home for a week to attend their parents' fortieth wedding anniversary and had been encouraged to bring a plus one. He hadn't thought that his presence would set off an old family feud, not when Dan had actually agreed to bring him.

"I came out to my parents when I was eighteen," Dan said suddenly, still staring out into the middle distance and Jones jumped.

"Serious? How?"

Dan began to chuckle and Jones shuffled round between his legs to get a better look at his lover's face.

"Why are you laughing? Oi, tell me? How did you come out?"

Dan looked into his eyes briefly and Jones felt his stomach flip at the intensity of his gaze. Dan grinned and looked quickly away, down to the main house and it's ostentatious garden.

"I snogged a boy on stage at my high school graduation."

Jones felt laughter bubble up inside him like cream soda and escape from him in a cackle that sounded a little mad even to his own ears.

"You what?!"

Dan shrugged, still laughing behind pursed lips, and placed a hand tentatively on the skin of Jones' hip where his skimpy top didn't quite meet his artfully ripped jeans.

"Final assembly. Another boy and I had to go up to receive awards for English and when we did we decided to have a bit of a snog to celebrate. Beat sitting our parents down and explaining things to them in a serious and cringeworthy manner. We weren't even serious, like a couple or anything. We'd just been messing about and realised that we should probably 'come out' in some way. As much as I loathe the term."

"I know."

"The best bit," Dan whispered, tugging Jones closer until their noses were brushing against each other and Jones could hear the velvety sound of Dan's breathing. "The best bit was when they confronted me about it and asked me if I was gay I got to say, 'nope.' They were so confused by it all they didn't talk to me for a week. Was brilliant. Then Claire sat them down with a bunch of journal articles about bisexuality and they pretended to be all informed but they never really got it. They still think I'm confused or some dark-ages shit. They think that you're proof that I'm confused."

"To be honest, you had _me_ confused for a while," Jones murmured, rubbing his nose gently against Dan's. "Lived with you for two years before I realised that the fancy coffees you bought me were your way of beginning something."

"Well, you've always missed life's subtleties, haven't you?"

"Oi! There's such a thing as too subtle, you know."

He tried to close the last inch to press his lips against Dan's but the other man turned his head at the last minute, presenting him with a scratchy cheek instead. He kissed it but he wasn't satisfied, even if the rasp of his stubble against Dan's patchy beard did make a music that just screamed sex.

"You didn't used to be so subtle," he pouted, pressing his face up against Dan's and enjoying the way he shivered in response to the hot breath against his ear. "You kissed a guy in front of your whole school and your parents. Why won't you kiss me in a secluded orchard when we're barely within shouting distance of your folks?"

Dan sighed, nuzzling his face into the crook of Jones' shoulder.

"I don't know," he mumbled, the melancholy that was always at the edges of his mind creeping back into his voice. Jones hated it, even if it was a beautiful melody, because he knew what Dan was capable of when the sadness took over. No one else seemed to get it. They didn't seem to grasp that the self-destructive behaviour was a serious issue rather than just Dan's recklessness and insolence. He tilted his chin to kiss the soft curls of Dan's hair.

"Grew up," Dan huffed against Jones' neck. "Got bitter. Learnt shame. Disappointment. Usual."

He shrugged and Jones slipped his arms around Dan's broad frame, holding him tight.

"You'll never be a disappointment to me, Ashcroft. You know that right?"

Dan raised his head and fixed his intense stare back on Jones until his breath started to hitch before leaning in and kissing him with the lazy passion that was his signature style. Jones was just settling in for a relaxed snogging session, enjoying the slide of tongues and the wet sound of lips, like eating half melted ice cream but better, when Dan suddenly grabbed his waist and rolled them until Jones landed with an 'oof' in the grass with Dan above him.

"Oscar Wilde?"

"Wha?"

With a wolfish grin Dan waved the tatty book of poetry in front of his nose and Jones couldn't help laughing.

"What of it? I thought it was well fitting."

"Do you even know who he was?"

Jones opened his mouth dramatically wide and gave Dan's chest a small slap.

"How dare you!"

"Well you are a Philistine," Dan purred back, leaning in to kiss Jones' neck and tickle his neck with his untamed facial hair.

Jones giggled but wasn't about to admit defeat.

"The Philistines was an advanced culture I'll have you know," he gasped between breathy giggles as Dan continued his assault. "They had poetry and jewelry and architecture and all that shit. They just had a bad reputation."

"Well aren't you clever all of a sudden."

Jones tried to wriggle out of Dan's grasp but the bigger man held him down by running a gentle hand down his chest to rest over his belly button.

"Just 'cos I never finished school doesn't mean I don't know stuff. Doesn't mean I don't like poetry and that either. Oscar Wilde was a right tragic hero. I was really pleased to find that book in your room."

Dan ceased his attack so suddenly that for a moment Jones felt like he couldn't breathe without Dan's mouth on his skin. And then the lips were resting against his own.

"You never cease to amaze me, d'you know that?" he whispered and Jones felt himself shiver again at the rasping, crush velvet of Dan's voice.

This time the kiss wasn't quite so lazy but certainly as passionate and Jones closed his eyes and gave in to the mass of other sensations fighting for notice. He felt the warmth of the afternoon mellow as the minutes passed but it did nothing to cool the heat inside him, or the intense heat radiating from Dan. When they finally separated and Dan rolled onto his back their lips were a matching kiss-bitten red and their chests were heaving almost in sync.

"We should probably head back to the house," Dan panted, his voice so low and husky Jones thought he might melt.

"Not unless you're ok with your folks seeing just how much I'm into you," he replied, his own voice breathy and strained. He raised his hips a little to make his point but wasn't ready for Dan to roll up onto his side and rub one of his large hands firmly over the bulging denim. He moaned weakly but Dan just chuckled before letting his hand drift away to rest on Jones' stomach.

"You might be right."

"What we gonna do then?" Jones tried to sound sexy but when Dan looked up at him through his tangled curls he knew he was just an amateur in the presence of a master.

"What would you like to do?"

It was a loaded question and it made Jones' heart beat right up in his throat so he could hear it and feel it.

What would he like to do?

Well, there was the obvious, of course, but he wasn't sure if even he was so shameless that he'd let Dan get him off in an orchard when they knew people were sure to start looking for them soon. He was pretty fucking shameless but doing it outside, without anything to help them along, when the midges were starting to come out to attack any exposed flesh they could find, was probably not worth it. They could retire to bed after dinner and Dan could bum him silly with all the comforts of lube and pillows and doors with locks. But there was something he wanted Dan to do for him.

"Read me a poem?"

He could tell that that had not been what Dan had been expecting. He kept blinking and his breathing was unpredictable and deep - like jazz.

"You want me to read to you?" Jones nodded and bit his lip excitedly. "Like a bedtime story for a toddler?"

Jones poked his tongue out before he realised that it probably wasn't helping his case but decided it was worth it when Dan gave that deep chuckle that did nothing to reduce the throb in Jones' jeans.

"Please?"

Dan flipped open the paperback with a dramatic sigh and settled himself down, resting his head against Jones' chest and tangling their legs together. Jones smiled smugly, running his fingers through Dan's hair and marveling at the fact that he was actually allowed to do so these days. They'd both been so thick, thinking the other wasn't really interested and wasting so much time - years! - before they finally decided that sharing a bottle of wine in bed was a good idea and let things take their course.

He shivered when Dan began to read. He'd never even dreamed of moments like this.

"Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay  
I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day.  
From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song,  
Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong.  
Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed,  
You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled meed.  
I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine,  
Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine.  
And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without name,  
And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of Fame.  
I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young,  
And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre's strings are ever strung.  
Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine,  
With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in mine.  
And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove,  
Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love;  
Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart,  
Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part.  
For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth,  
And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth.  
Yet I am not sorry that I loved you -ah! what else had I a boy to do? -  
For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.  
Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is past,  
Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last.  
And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the root,  
And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.  
Ah! what else had I to do but love you? God's own mother was less dear to me,  
And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea.  
I have made my choice, have lived my poems, and, though youth is gone in wasted days,  
I have found the lover's crown of myrtle better than the poet's crown of bays."

Jones looked out over the inky blue of the orchard, the shadows that waltzed about among the trees. Dan was so warm against him and the night felt so thin after the heaviness of the day He felt like he should say something but words had never really been his thing, not when it came to expressing stuff that actually mattered. So instead he wrapped his arms tightly around Dan's front, enjoying the tiny sounds of his hands catching against the fabric of the ancient shirt as he did so. He could feel the heavy beat of Dan's heart against his ribcage and the beat was the most addictive he'd ever heard.

"Love you, Dan," he whispered, hating that his voice came out so cracked and uneven, and hating the silence that followed his words even more.

After a pause of what Jones estimated to be about two minutes, fifty-four seconds, Dan moved against him, tilting his head until he could lay a kiss against Jones' neck. The angle was awkward but for once Dan wasn't.

"I know," he responded, the catch in his voice echoing Jones'. "And I'm not going anywhere. Not now."

….

Mrs Ashcroft had been furious when the two men had stumbled back to the house an hour after dinner had been served, their clothing rumpled and Jones attempting to hide a suspicious looking wet patch on his yellow t-shirt. Claire had tried to calm her down but Dan's dad had just laughed, long and hard, and when he finally stopped had welcomed Jones to the family and asked his son when he intended to make an honest man of his charming and delightful boyfriend. Dan simply pulled Jones upstairs, both of them red faced and in need of a shower before they could get on with a proper night of love-filled and romantic... bumming.


End file.
